The Immortals
by Bojack727
Summary: 1986, Las Angeles: Ulquiorra has been alive for centuries, alone since the day he cursed with immortality, until a chance encounter with a girl named Orihime changes everything. But LA becomes a battleground for others like him and their future is threatened when his oldest & deadliest enemy comes to finish what he started over four hundred years ago. AU UlquiHime! Please R&R!
1. Chapter 1

**_Destined to reside forever outside the flow of time... We have existed for millennia, since the beginning, each of us living countless secret lives. All of us forever struggling to understand our own destiny. Now, a time of great crisis is approaching, the dawn of an age of peace or chaos._**_** And so now, the fate of all humanity will be determined by the final outcome of a centuries old struggle, between the forces of light and dark. We are...  
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**"THE IMMORTALS"**

**Written by Bojack727  
>Based on a story by Gregory Widen<br>With Characters by Tite Kubo  
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><p><strong>Part 01<strong>

_Las Angeles, 1986..._

Ulquiorra reclined in the red cushioned folding chair of the majestic theatre, silently taking in the production of Shakespeare's "Macbeth" on the stage before him. At the moment, something about the sight of the two actors, as they crossed swords, struck a cord in him.

He suddenly felt overcome by an uncomfortable sense of remembrance. Feeling out of place in the ornate hall, he silently rose to his feet, carefully adjusting his trenchcoat before making his way down the row of (occupied) seats. He reached the carpeted floors of the central isle, towards the glowing outline that was the door at the back of the theatre. He made his way to the door, sliding it open just enough to slip out, while not disturbing his fellow patrons.

He ran his slender fingers through his thick black hair as he stepped into the lobby. He was dressed in a light tan-colored trenchcoat- pulled shut in the front and held in place by a loose knot in the coat's belt. Underneath, he was decked out in a pair of dark blue slacks and a matching suit jacket, with a white button-up shirt (no tie) and a pair of plain white tennis shoes.

Almost on instinct, his brilliant green eyes quickly located the nearby bar. He exhaled and made his way to one of the swivel-stools, taking a seat and placing an order with the bartender. As he waited for his drink, his mind began to wonder... Only half-aware as the drink was set down in front of him, he paid the man and lifted the glass up to his pale lips.

In spite of the strong aroma of the aged whiskey and coke before him, his mind was somewhere else...

**. . . ...o.o.o... . . .  
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_Spain, 1556..._

The mild chill in the air was faintly uncomfortable to him as he walked across the grassy hilltop that overlooked the valley below. Ulquiorra was dressed in a suit of light plate armor, with a layer of leather and chain-mail underneath. He wore a red and white tunic that covered his breastplate, with his family's _coat-of-arms_ embroidered (in red and gold) on the surface. The crest depicted the image of a gilded shield with a bat-like creature set upon it.

He arrived at the side of his smokey-gray horse, _Argento_, inserted an armored boot into the stirrup and hoisted himself up onto the saddle. His squire, a young man, handed him his sheathed sword (fixed to a leather belt), which he fastened around his waist. As the man helped him to slide his arm into the straps on his shield, Ulquiorra turned to face his friend and commander- Juan Castillo.

Castillo, a Don with a smart-looking mustache and pointed goatee, was decked out in a similar suit of armor to the one that Ulquiorra wore. The Commander wore a light blue tunic over his breastplate, with his family's own coat-of-arms, embroidered upon it in black and gold. It was a shield, and the image of a griffon with its wings spread out across the crest. His kettle helm, adorned with the blue and black feathered plume befitting his rank, was nestled in his folded sword-arm.

He turned to Ulquiorra, grinning to himself at the image of his bat on family crest, as the young squire handed his helmet to him. "Considering your family's illustrious history, I find it amusing that your crest should feature a bat upon it." He remarked with a smile. "It's not exactly what one would expect to see worn a noble and a member of the Court."

Ulquiorra smirked at the remark. "As I surely must have explained to you many a time, the _'bat'_ as you call it, is Murceliago." The dark-haired officer began. "It represents stealth and speed- the ability to strike at the enemy before they see your blade."

"Yes, I see." Juan Castillo replied with a small nod. "Well, you shall need all the luck and skills you can get for the battle to come." The Commander continued, far more serious now. "This rabble are a threat to the Monarchy- our newly crowned King need's harmony, not discord."

"Agreed." Ulquiorra replied. "The Empire must not be seen to be in disarray... We must end this conflict once and for all, before it has the chance to fester and spread."

"Be mindful my friend." Castillo remarked. "I've heard rumors about the rebels... Foreign mercenaries are amongst them- dangerous men with no loyalty to any lord or land."

Ulquiorra turned to look to the enemy forces and encampment, situated on the hilltop on the opposite end of the low valley between them...

**. . . ...o.o.o... . . .  
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Trumpets blared and the call to battle was sounded- sending the royalist forces charging the enemy, the two forces crashing against one another in the valley below. Blood soon began to stain the battleground as sound of cries and the noise of metal striking metal filled the entire area. Ulquiorra was busy fighting against the rebel infantry, when he suddenly spotted a lone mounted figure in the distance...

Ulquiorra could tell at once that he was a knight- he rode a black horse and wielded a massive longsword, striking down everyone in his way. The warrior was dressed in a pallid grayish-yellow suit of armor (over a layer of dark leather under-armor). His helm looked like an enlarged human skull, complete with darkened eye and nasal socket, and rows of elongated fang-like teeth along the front of the helmet, above his eyes. The heavy visor that obscured his face resembled a monstrous jaw. A mane of black feathers, sprouting up like a mohawk, lined the top of the helmet and hung down the back. A dark blue-gray cloak flapped behind him as he moved. It was fixed to his shoulders, and the collar was thickly lined with black feathers.

A heavy breastplate covered his entire upper body. The top half was formed in the image of a muscled human chest. While the lower half had abdominal muscles carved down the center of the front, and rows of curved bones on either side that looked like an exposed ribcage. The heavy shoulder pauldrons were fashioned to look like skulls (similar to the visage of his helmet). His arms were covered in sleeves of plate armor, complete with jointed elbow guards and armored gloves- though his right (sword) arm sported a heavier arm and elbow guard. His legs were fully armored- complete with heavy knee guards and armored boots.

The knight turned to look at him for a moment, then began heading right for him- laughing in a deep voice as he set about carving a bloody swath through the ranks as he closed in on him. Ulquiorra shrugged off his shield to free up the arm for the reigns, then led his horse in a charge against the knight. The two warriors soon met, their blades clashing for an instant. In spite of all his strength, the shear force of the strike was enough to knock Ulquiorra from his horse. Ulquiorra rolled across the damp ground for a few secants, loosing his helmet in the commotion, before getting back up onto his feet.

He turned to look at the knight, watching as the black horse reared up on its back legs with a cry, the warrior's massive blood-stained sword held aloft as lightning struck down in the distance, sounding off like some terrifying drum as the sky darkned. The knight regained control of his horse as rain began to trickle down from the sky. He eventually slowed it to a halt, wordlessly dismounting less than twenty feet from Ulquiorra, and regarded him. Ulquiorra (who was 5'10") realized that the other warrior was about a head taller than him. He lifted up his visor for a moment, likely to get a better look at him, before wordlessly beckoning Ulquiorra to him.

The dark-haired knight obliged him and charged the standing warrior. With both hands, he swung his long sword at his nameless foe, but the grim warrior effortlessly knocked his sword well off to the side with a quick swipe of his own massive sword. This opening gave him the window he needed, allowing the knight to pull back his sword... Then thrust the blade right through Ulquiorra's chest!

He gasped in pain and shock, his entire body slack, and let slip his blade. The knight put a booted foot against him and withdrew the blood-stained blade from his torso, leaving Ulquiorra to fall to his knees- still in a state of shock from the brutal wound inflicted upon him. Without saying a word, the warrior stepped behind him and readied his large weapon, preparing for the kill..

However, before he could deliver the finishing blow to the back of his neck, the knight paused and looked up to see just as another man- mounted on a horse, charging towards him with a long spear in hand. Castillo let out a yell as he hurled the projectile at the knight, embedding it deep in his chest. He watched as the dark knight staggered back from the blow, then fell motionless to the ground.

The Spaniard stopped his charge and rapidly dismounted, then rushed to his fallen friend's side...

**. . . ...o.o.o... . . .  
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_Las Angeles, 1986..._

Ulquiorra gulped down the potent dark brown contents of drink and quickly paid the bartender before leaving the lobby. He remained silent the whole time as he departed.

The dark-haired man navigated way through a short series of halls and down staircases, until he arrived at the bottom level of the theatre's parking garage. The whole place was gritty and gray, with low ceilings that featured endless lengths of piping, interspersed with dusty florescent lights. He suddenly came to a halt, his sneaker-clad foot crunching down into the center a discarded Coke can- instantly caving in the red and white aluminum.

Then, he heard another voice-_"Schiffer!"_

The sound of his name quickly drew his attention to one of the countless identical dark gray concrete pillars lining the rows of parked cars. Ulquiorra remained silent, watching as another man stepped out from behind one of the pillars, about thirty feet from him, and looked directly at him.

"Stark..." Ulquiorra replied in a hushed tone as he looked the man over. The man was dressed in an expensive looking dark blueish-gray three-piece suit (along with a pair of black slacks and a dark silk tie around his neck). His long wavy brown hair was pulled into a loose ponytail in the back, while his eyes were obscured behind a pair of trendy dark glasses. He wore dark black leather gloves, and a long tan-colored double-breasted trenchcoat hung off of his left hand.

Remaining silent, Ulquiorra watched as the man slowly approached him. Once he'd narrowed the distance between them by half, he held up his right hand- concealed within the "basket" style hand guard of an extremely ornate (and likely expensive) Rapier. From the look of it, Ulquiorra guessed it was of Italian design and hundreds of years old. Both the handle and the guard were made of fine silver and gold, with a large pummel stone that was capped with a ruby.

Stark took a few steps forward, still clutching his long coat in his free hand. Ulquiorra remaining silent the whole time, but slid his left foot back slightly to get better balance. The man's full name was Conrad Stark, and they'd crossed a few times over the last century. When they'd first met, out in the wilds of the western frontier, he was better known as _Coyote Stark_.

"We don't have to do this, Stark." Ulquiorra began in a low tone. "It's not too late, just walk away..." He offered the other man, even as his muscles tensed in anticipation. "Neither one of us has to die- we can both just walk away from this with our lives." He offered him calmly.

Stark grinned in response to this. "Hah! Unlike you... I have ambition!" He exclaimed, resuming his advance towards him. "Even a weakling you must feel _it_- like some massive magnetic force drawing us to this city... For some purpose." He reasoned. "So, Ulquiorra... Are you going to fight, or am I just going to cut you down where you stand?"

Ulquiorra sighed and then reached into his trenchcoat, quickly withdrawing a sword of his own from the depths of his coat. It was a Katana: the 30" blade was slightly curved, with a razor sharp edge running along the front and a pointed tip. The metal somehow glistened like silver, even in the dim light of the parking structure. It had a circular gold hilt, with a long ivory handle- with imagery of bat-winged creatures carved into the white surface.

He gripped the sword handle with both hands and took up a fighting stance. He narrowed his eyes and looked directly at the other man. "Just one question, Coyote... Did you really kill Lillynette?"

"Don't call me that!" Stark replied, sounding more angry than he had meant to, before striking at Ulquiorra in a stabbing motion. But the dark-haired swordsman evaded thrust of his sword and struck against the back of his rapier. Stark quickly regained his footing and turned to face Ulquiorra once more. "Don't speak to me of such things... Especially when you're going to be dead soon!"

The two men began trading blows- their swords clashing again again as they moved down along the rows between the parked cars. Stark drove him back up against one of the concrete pillar, and seized the moment to knock the sword from his hand- and sliding across the floor.

Ulquiorra leapt onto the hood of a nearby parked car, with Stark in close pursuit of him as he moved from roof-to-roof. At one point, Stark overestimated his swing, and struck major pipline running along the roof of the structure. Preasurized water sprayed forth from the breached pipe (knocking his glasses off), just as the sprinkler systems began soaking the entire parking garage. Ulquiorra spotted his sword in the distance, underneath a car, and set out to retrieve it in the confusion.

Stark wiped his eyes off and spotted Ulquiorra's moving figure. He jumped down onto the ground and began performing a series of back flips- down the isle- to catch up to him.

Ulquiorra dropped down between two cars and stuck his arm under the chassis of one- straining himself to close the tiny gap between the tips of his fingers and the handle. Then, at last, he just managed to get hold of the sword and pulled it out from under the car. Ulquiorra emerged, just in time to block Stark's next attack and deflect his blade as he got to his feet to continue their fight.

Water continued to rain down as the two fought- blades clashing in a flurry of metal and sparks- the downpour turning the dust in the facility into a thin layer of grime. The meager lighting glinted off the coliding blades with each swing taken- Stark's single-handed fencing style and Ulquiorra's two-handed style. The two circled each other, trading blows in this lethal dance.

Then, in a critical moment, the two faced each other, their blades locking. Both men tried to entangle each other with their sword. This back-and-forth went on, until Ulquiorra eventually prevailed and disarmed Stark- sending his rapier flying off to the side with a swipe of his blade.

Stark went rigid at that moment- the blade came back, now resting against his throat. He was finished and he knew it, the sensation of the cutting edge of Ulquiorra's sword resting against his pulse more than confirmed that he had lost this battle. Stark then fell silent, looking the other man directly in the eyes.

Ulquiorra looked at him for a moment, brushing his dark locks out of his eyes with his free hand, before speaking up once more as he surveyed the man before him. "Stark... What happened to Lillynette?"

The other man, his damp dark brown hair clinging to his face, smirked. "My... _past_... caught up with me... And she paid the price for my sins." He replied, his tone becoming serious. "Ulquiorra..." He began, gaining the other man's full attention as he spoke. "No matter what happens... _He_ must not win."

Ulquiorra nodded in understanding. He slowly drew back his sword from the man's neck, then swung back in a quick, fluid motion- taking Stark's head off in a single clean slash. The head fell to the ground and the now-decapitated body fell backwards, motionless for an instant...

But then, the body began to glow and crackle with energy, and slowly began to rise up- as blinding light blue archs of power crackled around it and leapt outwards. The lightning continued to lash and strike out. Car headlights lit up and alarms went off, even as the energy began to focus in on Ulquiorra.

All of Stark's accumulated power, everything that he was and ever had been, focused into a concentrated blast and struck Ulquiorra head-on like a tidal wave, entering his body- his sword serving as a channeling devise to draw in the fallen warrior's power.

It was like Ulquiorra had touched an exposed power line. And as overwhelmed as he was, the ordeal didn't feel painful, even as he the essence of the man he had just slain became part of him. And then, just as abruptly as the transference had begun, his sword fell from his hand and he dropped down into a battered and confused heap upon the hard ground beneath him...

**(- End of Part 01 -)**

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><p>I hope everyone enjoyed this first chapter. I conceived this story idea as a way of celebrating my tenth anniversary on the site. Rather than just supernatural powers, I wanted to do a Bleach story that had a lot of swashbuckling elements to it. Basically, I wanted the swords they carry to serve a practical function.<p>

Some of the readers will have likely picked up on the fact that this story is heavily influenced by an existing work. While it is based on another idea, it's by no means a crossover, as it revolves around the Bleach characters. As for the inspiration that I keep referring to, I'll leave it the readers imaginations to figure out what it is. Regardless, I've worked hard to ensure that this isn't just a scene-by-scene copy of the original. There's a lot that will diverge from the source material that inspired it. This was supposed to have been out sometime last month, but work and problems with my internet service delayed its release.

Anyway, I hope to have the next chapter part of the story posted soon, and see what all you guys thought of it. Until then, see you later!

_-Bojack727_


	2. Chapter 2

Special thanks to Luna and Meow for their reviews of the story. I wasn't sure at first how people would react to this, but I'm really glad that some of you seem to be enjoying it.

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><p><strong>"THE IMMORTALS"<strong>

**Written by Bojack727  
>Based on a story by Gregory Widen<br>With Characters by Tité Kubo**

**Part 02**

Water came down from the sprinkler heads like rain around the two men, a flurry of metal and sparks as the blades of their swords clashed. The downpour was turning the dust and grit under their feat into a filmy layer of grime as they fought.

The meager overhead lighting glinted off their blades with each deadly swing, the swords colliding in a leathal dance of death between the two men. Stark's dark gray suit was speckled with damp spot from and his long dark brown hair was limp and clung to him. The sprinklers had left Ulquiorra's trenchcoat in a similar state, and his collar-length black hair was slicked against his pale flesh.

The two warriors circled each other, their eyes locked the whole time. Then, in what was about to become the determining moment of the duel, they moved in. Each man feinted slightly to the side, and both moved to take a swing at the other. Ulquiorra leaned eastward and swung his katana inwardly at Stark, while Stark leaned westward and swung his rapier outwardly at Ulquiorra. The blades made contact, sparks flying, and turned around to face each other.

Just as soon as they'd turned to face each other, they locked blades. Then, in a flourish, Ulquiorra thrust forward and twirled the sword-blade of his katana around the other. The trapped sword went flying from Stark's hand, the ornate rapier landing nearby, leaving him unarmed as the razor-sharp edge stopped just short of cutting his throat.

Stark's went rigid, he was finished and he knew it. "It... look's like... you won." He commented in a raspy voice, he could feel the blade of the other man's sword pressed firmly against his neck, just below his Adams apple. He smiled at Ulquiorra. "Don't tell me... you're having... second thoughts?"

Ulquiorra shook his head. "No, I just want to ask you something..." He replied calmly, looking Stark dead in the eyes. "Stark... What happened to Lillynette?"

Stark closed his eyes and let out a chuckle. "This life we live," He began. "It really is pretty rotten when you get down to it..." The man let out a sigh. "A lot's happened in the hundred years since we last crossed paths..." He explained gravely. "Let's just say that my _past_ caught up with me... And she ended up paying the price for my _sins."_

Ulquiorra nodded silently at the admission. "Yes, I think this is for the best, I've grown tired of this endless struggle..." Stark commented, giving him a small smile. "Ulquiorra..." His tone suddenly became serious. "No matter what happens... _He_ must not win."

Ulquiorra nodded in understanding, then slowly withdrew his sword, then brought it back in a quick fluid motion- passing through Stark's neck in one clean slash. His head tipped back and fell to the ground, leaving the now-headless body to fall backwards onto the ground...

But things didn't remain inactive for long... Stark's decapitated body began to glow and visibly crackle with energy. Ulquiorra squinted and watched as the body began to rise upwards, raw power arching out from the body like lightning as it rose up. The power coming from the body was almost blinding as it filled the entire area, supercharging everything in the garage.

The florescent lights intensified and burst in a spray of sparks, the headlights of the cars lit up and alarms were set off by the glowing energy. As everything was going crazy around Ulquiorra, the focus of all the power suddenly shifted to him- currents of energy began striking him, causing him to go stiff as it worked its way into him. The energy was the manifestation of all of Stark's power, his experience, skills, knowledge- everything that he ever was and had been.

All of it entered Ulquiorra, his sword serving as a channeling devise for the power. It felt like he'd just touched an exposed power line. And as overwhelmed as he was, the ordeal didn't feel painful, even as the essence of the man he had just slayed rapidly became part of him. And then, just as abruptly as it all had begun, the experience ended and his sword fell from his hand and he dropped down, a battered and confused heap upon the hard ground beneath him...

Ulquiorra watched, only half-aware, as what he could only call "a spirit" seemed to separate from the headless body and float away. The last thing he recalled, before crumbling, was the sight of Stark's rapier as it began to glow, then vanish along with the ghostly form.

Several secants passed, then he bolted up onto his knees. He tilted his head back, causing his jet back hair to fall back as he looked at the ceiling with closed-eyes. Ulquiorra then lowered his head and opened his green eyes to look around. He knew there would be trouble if he stuck around, so he picked up his katana and rushed off to find his car...

**. . . ...o.o.o... . . .**

_Spain, 1556..._

Ulquiorra sat bolt upright and looked around. The room he was in was dark, with stone walls and minimal torchlight to illuminate the area. Recalling what had happened to him, he looked down at his chest to see that he'd been bandaged up. From the look of things, he noted that they appeared to have been changed recently. He tentatively brought a hand up to feel himself through the wrapping...

And to his amazement, he didn't feel any pain when he touched the spot where he'd been stabbed by the knight during the skirmish. The image of the knight, as he dismounted from his black horse, and approached him, his massive sword drawn. Then, the sudden sharp pain he'd felt as the man's blade had pierced his body, driving through his armor and flesh like a hot poker.

"I see you're awake." A familiar voice remarked, causing Ulquiorra to look to the side, spotting the seated figure of Juan Castillo on a stone bench across from him. "This place we're in right now... it's the old crypts beneath the city." He explained to him. "I had you brought here after the battle."

"...But why?" Ulquiorra asked dumbly.

"Because, Ulquiorra... You shouldn't have survived what was done to you." Castillo answered. "No normal man could possibly have survived what he did to you..." The other man explained in a grave tone as he looked at him. "That warrior ran you through, like a swine on scour."

Castillo paused. "If word got out that you'd survived, some people would surely think that you were in league with the devil himself." He explained. "So, in the wake of the battle, I had you spirited away before anyone else learned that you lived."

Ulquiorra sighed, and looked downwards for a moment. "Tell me something, Juan... Do you think that I'm in league with the Devil?" He asked, looking up at him.

The man frowned and shook his head. "I don't know what to think... As a Catholic, I know that I should be scared of such an occurrence..." The knight replied grimly. "But as you're commander and friend, my instincts tell me that you're not working with the devil." He paused. "But I'm just one man, and I know that there are others who would condemn you- have you burned as a servant of darkness."

Ulquiorra nodded. "I see... Thank you, though, for believing in me."

Castillo nodded gravely at his friend's words. "Of course, how could I do any less?" He asked, smiling sadly at him. "Ulquiorra de Murcille... You have been, and shall always be my loyal friend... and it is for that reason that I've made arrangements to get you out of the city." He revealed. "I am sorry, but this is the best I could do, given the situation."

The other man took a deep breath and nodded. "No, my dear friend, you've done more than enough..." He replied with a small smile. "No matter what may happen, I won't ever forget this..."

**. . . ...o.o.o... . . .**

_Las Angeles, 1986..._

Ulquiorra turned the key and fired up the ignition with a roar from the engine. He grabbed the stick and shifted his car into reverse, pulling his dark silver Mercedes 300SL out of its parking spot, and rapidly made his way out of the parking garage. He hadn't had time to bring up the top on the old 1960 two-seater, so his dark ruffled in the current as he drove along.

He skidded to a sudden halt at the exit when he spotted a familiar figure. It was a tall slender man, with medium brown hair, pulled into a ponytail. He had long sideburns that blended into whiskers along the jaw of his angular features. He smiled at Ulquiorra as he pulled up beside him. The man was dressed in a black suite, including a matching vest and black tie over a white dress shirt. He wore a dark gray overcoat and an old fashioned black fedora hat.

"Shunsui... It's been a while." Ulquiorra commented. "Quick, get in." He instructed him, turning his attention back to the street before him. The man nodded and smiled, then circled around the front of the car and hopped into the passenger seat beside him. Once he'd closed the door, Ulquiorra hit the accelerator, sending the car speeding off into the night.

"So, rough night?" Shunsui asked with a smile, literally holding onto his hat as they drove.

Ulquiorra eventually nodded. "Yeah..." He replied wearily. "You know, I do with a stiff drink right about now." He added, turning onto a street that lead to a nearby pub.

**. . . ...o.o.o... . . .**

Elsewhere, against the backdrop of the night sky, an old four-door Cadillac sedan was making its way across the 405 interstate. The dusty car drove along, its powerful headlights casting beams of light into the darkness. A late-breaking news story was playing on the radio.

"_...local authorities have turned up another body in Sandiego last night, and have since confirmed that it matches the M.O. of the previous murders... The decapitated body was found, within close proximity of the victim's own severed head- a head, that as of now, has no name."_

The driver smiled toothily as he listened the radio. _"I_ know his name." He remarked in a deep, slightly raspy voice as he drove. He let out a low rumbling chuckle as he reached into his pocket, removing a generic cassette tape, which he inserted into the slot beneath the radio. The internal mechanisms whirred to life and music filled the interior as he turned up the volume.

A harsh guitar riff started up, followed by drums, and the the caustic lyrics of an accented singer all filled the interior with Iron Maiden's _Highway to Hell._

**. . . ...o.o.o... . . .**

_Western Europe, 1558..._

Ulquiorra was sitting on a bench, leaning against stonework wall of the darkened room, a thick blanket wrapped him like a cloak. A tall man with wavy blond hair was standing on the other end of the small room, next to a metal furnace and smithing equipment.

He was dressed in robe-like garments, though Ulquiorra didn't recognize the design. He wore a heavy green coat (open in the front), with wide sleeves, over lighter clothing. Ulquiorra had been on his own, drifting aimlessly, when the strange man had appeared before him. Without even dismounting from his horse, he removed his hat and bowed- introducing himself as 'Kisuke Urahara'.

"You were lucky that I found you when I did, Ulquiorra." The blond commented as he gathered up various equipment and began stoking the forge. "Vulnerable, as you were, the wilds of Europe can be a very dangerous place- especially unarmed." Urahara explained to him as the coal slowly began to glow a faint orange color. "Our first order is creating a sword for you, a _Soul Sword_... You'll need one if you're going to make yourself whole again."

He removed his heavy green coat. "Luckily, I can help you in this regard." Urahara continued with a smile as he picked up a rectangular block of steel. "Though I can only work the metal..." He paused as he slipped on an apron. "If it is to be part of _you_, it must be you who will make it _live."_

"Tell me something, Sir Urahara," Ulquiorra began. "From what you've told me so far... Why did you not kill me when we first met?" He asked him. "After all, by your own reckoning, I would have been easy prey for you... And yet, you chose to take me in and help me."

Urahara fell silent for a moment. "Well, you see, experience has helped me to become a rather good judge of people's character." He responded, setting the metal down. "When I looked into your eyes, I saw something- something powerful, yet compassionate."

"Right now, you're like a blank slate- you have potential in you, but you're raw." Urahara continued as he slipped on a pair of thick gloves. "Still, I can see that you're a good person, though you have a lot to learn about who you are and what you're capable of."

**. . . ...o.o.o... . . .**

_Las Angeles, 1986..._

Ulquiorra and Shunsui were seated a table in the corner of a smoky Irish pub, nursing their drinks and quietly chatting with each other. The lights were low inside and there weren't many other patrons there at the moment besides the two of them.

"And you heard that directly from him?" Shunsui asked Ulquiorra before he took a slow sip from the whiskey and coke he was holding in his hand.

Ulquiorra nodded, taking a drink from his aged scotch, jostling the ice. "Stark didn't seem to want to get into the specifics of it," He replied, setting the glass down. "But it's almost certain that Lillynette must have been killed sometime within the last century."

Shunsui nodded gravely. "Too bad, pretty thing..." He lamented with a sigh, casually taking another sip of his drink. "And now... Stark's gone as well." The scruffy fighter added, his tone and expression becoming bleak as he continued. "At the rate things are going... I wonder, sometimes, if it really could come down to there being only one us left in the end."

Ulquiorra looked into his glass, before taking a drink from it. "I'd like to believe that there's a reason for why our kind exists... Aside from killing each other, that is." He remarked bitterly, before looking back up at Shunsui. "Tell me something... You felt _it_, didn't you, that's why came to the city?"

"Yes, it was like some siren's call- an irresistible force." Shunsui explained. "Somehow, I just knew that I wouldn't be able to get _it_ out of me head until I came here..." The scruffy man paused for a moment, before going on. "And others will have felt it as well... And some will have scores to settle."

"You know," Ulquiorra began. "This might be a _Gathering_- perhaps things have become so chaotic that we're being drawn together to restore order the so-called 'balance of power'."

"As much as I hate to say it, I'm inclined to agree with you." Shunsui replied, finishing off his drink and getting to his feet. "Stay safe, my old friend..." He said with a smile. "After all, we don't want you going out and _loosing your head."_

**. . . ...o.o.o... . . .**

The white-haired man dropped to his knees, his sword falling from his hand with a noisy metallic clattering sound that echoed around him and another figure standing before him. He coughed, tasting copper as blood to spilled down his chin. He brought his hand up to the wound on his chest, then laughed weakly at the thick blood smeared on his palm.

Gin Ichimaru (aka, "The Fox") watched as his blood trickled onto the ground, forming a small puddle at his knees, as he looked up at the woman before him. "R-Rangiku..."

Her bright blond hair hung freely down her back. Her perfect features seemed to almost glow in the soft light as she looked down on him- her supple pink lips, the little mole to the right of her mouth that had always captivated him... All he could think about was how lovely she looked, even now as she hovered over him, his blood on her sword.

Rangiku was dressed in a pair of snug black pants and a white dress shirt, along with a fashionable drab green jacket over it. The upper half of the buttons on her blouse were open, showing off her lacy bra and considerable bust- which was straining against the white fabric. A thin chain hung around her neck, and vanished into the valley between her large breasts.

The busty blond woman glared at him, her sword clutched tightly in her hand. "So then.. Any last words, before you die?" She asked bitterly as she raised her sword.

Gin looked up at her, the same fox-like smile on his face she'd seen so many times before- back in the days when she'd still smiled back at him. "I... know that you can't forgive me for what did to you, for betraying what was between us, but..." He paused, coughing up blood. "I just want you to know that in spite of everything I did... For what little it's worth now... My feeling's for you were genuine."

Rangiku felt the sting of tears in in the corners of her eyes, her hands trembling slightly around the hilt of her sword _The Ash Cat_, but managed to compose herself. She hated him for violating not just her trust, but her feelings. but she had loved him once. And not even hate could make forget that.

She gripped the hilt of her sword firmly with both hands and brought it up, so that the blade was standing erect next to her head. She blinked a few times to clear her eyes, before she was ready to cast her gaze down at him. "I'm sorry too, Gin... Sorry that things didn't work out for us." She paused, fighting back tears again. "Maybe... One day, in another life, on another world- I might be able to forgive you... But not in this life."

"I... understand." Gin replied gravely, his smile vanishing. "I wanted to strip away all my humanity to make myself stronger... But you were the one thing that always remained... Even when I hurt, I couldn't make myself stop loving you." He paused and smiled up at her. "Heh... You know, you were right Rangiku...It would have been a beautiful life."

She closed her eyes, unable to look at his smiling face with tears in her eyes. "Gin, I... Thank you." Rangiku whispered as she swung her sword.

A arch of blood splattered on the wall...

**. . . ...o.o.o... . . .**

A clean-cut man, with a slightly boyish face, slipped into the passenger seat of a car. As he sat down, the man in the driver seat reached up to removed a pair of dark glassed. He had long straight back hair that hung down his back, and a slender face. "..._Well_, Tesla, was it as I said it would be?" He asked, his wide mouth like the maw of a lion as he spoke.

Tesla nodded quietly. "Yes sir, Mr. Grigaeri." He replied, prompting Nointra to give him a toothy smile as the brown-haired man closed the car door. "Just as you expected, Conrad Stark was defeated by Ulquiorra Schiffer." He paused, a nervous look appearing on his face.

Nnoitra picked up on the other man's unease. "Well? Spit it out then!" He began. "I can tell when something's bothering you- so just tell me and be done with it!" He instructed him in his usual crass tone. Nnoitra Grigaeri was not the kind of man to suffer fools, and Tesla knew well enough not to beet around the bush about things when he spoke to him.

"Well, sir... It's just..." Tesla paused, carefully picking his next words. "Why not just kill go after Schiffer and kill him now?" He asked him emphatically. "Sir, you're already more powerful enough to eliminate him as it is!" He declared.

Nnoitra smiled dangerously at this. "Good help is so hard to find..." He began. "You have assisted me dutifully and faithfully for all these years... And your faith in my skill is flattering." The slender man continued, a subtle undercurrent of menace in his words. "I am _allowing_ him to go on living because it convenient for me..." He explained to him. "The more battles he wins, the less competition I'll have later on when I've risen to power.."

"You see, it's a game, a game I've been playing with him for over a century..." The black-haired man continued with a broad smile. "It's all a matter of patience. But don't worry, I have no intention of allowing him to become too powerful..." He added with a smile. "Soon, when the right moment presents itself, we will spring the trap and I will take his life _and_ his power!"

**. . . ...o.o.o... . . .**

Ulquiorra parked his car in the alley, next to the antiques shop he ran. He unlocked the front door and let himself in, then took the building's old fashioned elevator to upper level. He'd converted the second floor into a sprawling loft apartment- giving him plenty of room to store everything that he'd collected over the course of his long life.

He sat hung up his coat on the rack near the door, removing his sword from straps inside the coat that held it in place, and entered the large open area. He sat down on a large "L"-shaped coached, and opened a small box on the coffee table. He drew Murceliago from its sheath and held it up to look it over for a moment, smiling to himself as he started cleaning the blade...

_Western Europe, 1558..._

...Ulquiorra watched intently as Urahara worked the red-hot metal, slowly and skillfully hammering the folded steel into the blade of a sword. He watched as it took shape on the anvil, sweat beading the blond's brow as he transformed the nondescript block in unique sword.

Over the course of several days, Urahara worked to refine and perfect the blade, until it came time for Ulquiorra make his contribution to the weapon's creation. He held up the knife that he'd been given days ago and ran the blade across his palm, wincing slightly and drawing blood. He looked to the other man, who nodded back at him.

Urahare then held the sword (still glowing) aloft with a pair of clamps. "Ulquiorra, it's time for you to take hold of the blade." He instructed in a serious voice. "Through your blood, the metal will recognize you, and become part you- body and soul." Ulquiorra looked at him, then back down at the blade, then extended his bloody hand and gripped the sword.

Instantly, he felt searing pain from the red-hot metal course through his body, but he continued to hold onto it- even as he cried out in pain. "Don't let go!" Urahara bellowed. "The pain will pass, but you must endure it! Wounds of the body are transient, but this- this sword- is now part of you! It embodies your strength and your will!"

The next week was spent sharpening and fitting the blade with a handle. The blade itself was about two and a half feet in length and curved slightly, with a razor-sharp outer edge and a narrow pointed tip on the end of it. Urahara had referred the sword as a "Katana". Apparently, it was a popular sword design used in his home country- an island country off the coast of the mainland. Urahara explained how he had always been different, viewed as an outsider by his countrymen, his hair was proof of that.

Amusingly, he'd suggested that the sword be named _"Murceliago"_, after the bat-like creature that adorned his family's crest and armor. The weapon was surprisingly light and well balanced, yet was extremely durable and sharp enough to cleave through anything. When he held the sword in his hand and wielded it, it truly felt like it was part of himself.

"_When you died in battle, you were reborn as a 'Sword Bearer'."_ Urahara had explained as he trained in him how to fight with the new weapon. Ulquiorra was unused to the weight and heft of the new weapon, but he persevered with the lessons. He explained how the sword was not only an extension of himself, but a means by which to become stronger the more he fought. "Times will come when you'll be forced to fight another of our kind..."

_1560..._

"Our immortality protects us from all but the most fatal wounds..." Urahara explained to as he taught Ulquiorra how to fight with the new weapon. "In the end, the only sure way of killing another our kind is by decapitation." The blond jabbed his sword in the ground. "When a Sword Bearer kills another, he gains the all the power and experience- the essence of the defeated warrior."

"There are certain _rules_ that we must follow..." Urahara explained, as the two were sitting on a green hillside, under blue-gray sky. "First, we can only fight in one-on-one battles... It's forbidden for another to intervene in a fight." He began. "Second, fighting on sacred or hallowed grounds of any kind is forbidden... No Immortal, no matter how brutal or ruthless would dare to violate this rule." The blond explained to him. "And lastly, in times of great peril and instability in the world, we will begin to feel ourselves being drawing towards a far away land..."

Urahara paused. "And I believe that in your lifetime, that will happen... There are those among us who are set to become so powerful that they could ultimately dominate the world." He explained as wind swept through them on the hill. "It's crucial that no one single person ever become that powerful."

Ulquiorra nodded. "You make it sound like there's some sort of higher power at work... Something guiding and shaping our destinies?"

The other man sighed and shrugged. "I don't know, no one can say for sure... The only thing I can say with absolute certainty is that the guidelines that I spoke of have been around for a very long time... Before even I _awoke._" Urahara paused. "Ulquiorra... I was born in the second century, and have been alive for over thirteen hundred years."

The other man's eyes going wide as he continued. "Like you, I was reborn as an immortal after suffering a violent death..." He explained to him. "No matter what might happen, I want you to keep something very important in mind: while killing another Sword Bearer may make you stronger, it will also make you a target for others." Urahara paused.

"You asked about some kind of higher power at work...?" He recalled. "In truth, that's something that I would like to believe in myself... I'd like to think that rather than dominate humanity, we have the power to help guide it, make it something great." He paused. "That is why I decided to train you, to become a force against the advent of evil in the world..."

**. . . ...o.o.o... . . .**

_Las Angeles, 1986..._

The old black Cadillac sedan pulled into the darkly lit parking lot of a seedy looking motel. The engine fell silent and the headlights cut off...

The front door to the motel flew open and a towering figure- dressed in black and carrying a silver metal briefcase- strode down the short hall of the rundown motel, towards front desk in the reception room. The clerk, who had been sitting behind the desk reading a magazine, looked up in time to be greeted by the sight of his lasted customer.

_The guy was fucking huge- easily about 6'5"!_

He wore an old black leather jacket on, with spikes and metal studs. The right sleeve was gone and bits of dark chain-male hung from the right shoulder strap, while the left sleeve had been removed and reattached (for better movement?) with the right shoulder strap. He wore black leather gloves, though the right one was fingerless and had bits of chain-male hanging from it. What the clerk couldn't see were the black feathers stitched in the back of his jacket. He wore black motorcycle chaps, tucked into a pair of industrial boots, over dark black denim jeans.

A gloved hand picked up the pin on the desk to scribble a name on the register, prompting the clerk to look down at it. "Okay... Well, Mr. 'Jack Jaeger'," He began in a joky tone, only to suddenly fall silent when he met his gaze: the man had sharp elongated facial features- including pronounced cheekbones, a pointed jaw and chin, and sharp barren brows over piercing blue eyes. His long aquamarine hair was was pulled tightly into a ponytail in the back. He had dark blue markings tattooed on the outer edges of eyes, resembling a leopard. The image of a 'panther' was visible, along the right side of his neck- lunging, with it's claws and fangs bared.

The clerk quickly managed to compose himself. "It's forty dollars a night, plus twenty another twenty dollars for the security deposit..." He trailed off, watching as he reached into his pocket to take out a large role of twenty-dollar bills- and put down enough money to pay for an entire week.

"Shit, man!" He exclaimed, smiling at him. "Mister, if you need anything- girls, drugs, whatever- just ring me up and I'll get it too you." He declared as he handed him his room key. He took the key from his hand, cocking a slender hairless brow and smiling sardonically as he picked his silver briefcase back up and headed to his room.

**. . . ...o.o.o... . . .**

There was a clicking sound and the door swung open- the man walking into the room, locking the door behind him and tossing his leather jacket aside. He walked into the center of the sparsely furnished room and got down onto his knees, setting he metal case down before him.

He flipped the hinges and opened it up, revealing a black padded interior that held the segments of a sword in fitted indention in the padding. He picked up the long handle, with the cross-hilt, and then retrieved the lower half of the sword blade and slid it into the handle and hilt- locking it in place on the handle with an audible click of the internal mechanisms. He then then picked up the upper half of the blade and slid it onto the rest of the sword, locking it down with another click.

He held it up to look at an inscription across the hilt and read it softly: _"La Pantera."_ He said to himself, his lips of his large mouth curved into a broad smile

**(- End of Part 2 -)**

* * *

><p>This chapter ended up being longer than I originally planned. But then, there was a lot of detailed storytelling in this than there was in the last chapter, so I guess it shouldn't be too much of a surprise for me.<p>

I'm sure a lot of you guessed who the guy in the last scene is by now, as well as the fact that he's the main villain of this story. Since the battles don't have any overt supernatural aspects, I wanted to have an adversary that could really threaten Ulquiorra (in terms of his physical raw power and skills). So when I thought about it, Grimmjow was just the obvious choice to use in the story.

Since I planned out the story well in advance, the chapters aren't all that hard to write. They just take a while to finish because of all the detail involved. Anyway, I hope to have another chapter out soon and look forward to seeing what you guys thought of this one. Please feel free to let me know.

_-Bojack727_


	3. Chapter 3

I started writing this right after I finished the last chapter. Because of my work schedule, I was in a situation where I had time to kill before I had access to a computer but no internet. So before I even had the second chapter posted on the site, I was already getting started.

I'm sure that by this point, some of you will have realized that the plot of this story is an adaptation of the 1986 movie "Highlander". Though, I like to think of this fanfic as more of a tribute to that excellent film, which I grew up watching all the time as a kid (and still do to this day). Still, this isn't a carbon copy of the plot from the movie, so the course of events will should diverge at a number of points.

And lastly, I want to say thanks to Lovely Smile, Nypsy, and Luna. Thanks for your reviews!

* * *

><p><strong>"THE IMMORTALS"<strong>

**Written by Bojack727  
>Based on a story by Gregory Widen<br>With Characters by Tité Kubo**

**Part 03**

With the _La Pantera_ fully assembled and ready, Grimmjaw rose to his feet, his tall figure bathed in the dull light streaming in through the thin curtains of the gray room. The weapon was cast from the finest high-grade of steel, and shined like silver before his eyes.

Over the many centuries of his life, he'd learned the true value of steel. In the late sixteenth century, he had traveled to South of Europe, where he sought the services of a famous Italian Metallurgist to have the artisan construct a perfect weapon for him. It had been made in in segments, to be carried in secret during his travels, then effortlessly reassembled for battle.

The cyan-haired warrior smiled dangerously in admiration of the deadly weapon as he held it up before his eyes, gripped in his gloved hands: The assembled blade was three feet in length, double-edged and with a tapered tip sharp enough to pierce through steel. The length of the handle was bound up tightly in fine black leather, and the grip was long enough to two hands. Though it was so well balanced that he could effortlessly wield it single-handed in a fight.

He began to perform a series of flourishes with the sword while shifting stances- twirling and swinging the sword, while swapping styles between one and both hands. Once he was sure that it was in proper working order, the tall swordsman turned it on its tip- then began skillfully twirling the weapon around with the palms of his hands. Satisfied with the results, he set the flat of the blade on his shoulder and picked up his jacket- throwing it over the sword as he left the room...

...He walked out into the parking lot, donning his jacket as he got into his black sedan. He set his sword down on the passenger seat, and started up the engine, and drove off into the night. Grimmjaw knew _others_ were out there- in the city, somewhere- he could _feel_ them!

**. . . ...o.o.o... . . .**

Ulquiorra felt much better now, with the benefit of a hot shower and a good night's rest, he felt as if he'd finally recovered from all the mayhem and madness of the previous night. Though he still had a lot on his mind, including the parting words of both (the late) Stark and his friend Shunsui...

He was dressed in his tan trenchcoat (to keep his sword hidden from prying eyes), as well as a pair of jeans and white sneakers, along with a white long-sleeved shirt. The dark-haired man passed under the arched doorway of the Cathedral, quietly making his way down the central aisle. He paused and took a seat on the edge of one of the pews, three or four rows from the front.

Ulquiorra lowered his head slightly, closing his deep green eyes as he silently reflected upon the events of his past and recent events. He failed to register, while lost in his own inner reflections, that he was being observed at the moment. But in this case, the watcher was a pretty young woman, in her mid twenties, with long sleek reddish-brown hair and inquisitive brown eyes.

The woman had her hair pulled into a ponytail with a pink scrunchy, while her long bangs in the front were held in place with a distinctive pair of aquamarine hairpins- both sporting identical ornaments that looked like six-pointed stars. She wore a denim jacket, over a white blouse, along with a dark blue knee skirt (with suspenders) and dark legging and fairly trendy-looking lady's boots. She leaned forward a bit, her ample breasts pushing against the fabric of her blouse, to get a better look at him.

After a while, Ulquiorra eventually opened his eyes and got to his feet. But as he made his way towards the door, he heard footsteps behind him, and turned to see a woman approaching him. She skidded to a halt beside him and smiled warmly at him. "Hello, my name is Orihime Inoue."

He replied with a simple nod. "Yes, well... my name is Ulquiorra, Ulquiorra Schiffer." He replied, not totally sure why he suddenly felt compelled to give this stranger his name. "Now, Miss Inoue, is there something I can do for you?" He asked her evenly.

She shook her head, still smiling. "No, it's just that when I saw you back in the church, and you seemed to have a lot on your mind." The young woman explained. "You see, I come here a lot too, whenever I feel a little lonely..." Orihime paused. "To talk to my brother, Sora." She finished, blushing faintly.

"Then your brother passed away?" Ulquiorra inquired, getting a nod from her. "I'm sorry... I know what it's like... I- I've also lost people I that I cared about." He continued. "Tell me something..." He began, a small smile on his face. "Do you normally tell strangers about your private life?"

She shook her head again at the question. "No, not usually. It's just that... there was, well, something _different_ about you." She replied rather cryptically. "I know this will sound silly... A-and I'm not sure about it myself, but I just felt like you were someone that I could trust."

He started to address her, but she insisted that he use her first name. "You know, Orihime..." Ulquiorra began, giving her a little smile. "You really are a very _interesting_ woman." The dark-haired swordsman fell silent, watching her blush again. "Tell me, was there any other reason that you approached me?"

Orihime blushed, but managed a smile. "Er, well I'm not sure how else to say this..." The orange-haired young woman began nervously. "But you also looked a little... lonely."

Ulquiorra smirked and ran a slender hand through his thick dark hair. "Yes, and so it seems, that you're also very observant as well." He added coolly, before turning back to smile at her. He couldn't help but think that she was a good deal more insightful than she realized...

**. . . ...o.o.o... . . .**

_Northern Japan, 1625..._

Ulquiorra rode up to meet with Urahara on a low slope in a small open area near the outskirts of a nearby forest. He pulled at the reigns, stopping the beast as he neared the other man...

Urahara raised a hand to greet him, offering a smile as he came to a halt. The blond was dressed in rather simple-looking robes at the moment. He wore his dark green coat over understated gray and white robes and long pants. His Soul Sword was tucked neatly into the high sash around his waist and he wore a pair of leather riding boots, along with a rather unusual white-and-black striped hat.

Ulquiorra had a wide straw hat on, to keep the sun out of his eyes, and kept his more than collar-length dark black hair pulled into a short ponytail. He wore a long light gray-brown cloak that hung down off his shoulders, over a set of dark Earthen robes and trousers that were tucked into a pair of dark brown leather riding boots. Like his mentor, the dark-haired swordsman kept his Soul Sword tucked firmly in place in the dark sash that was bound tightly around his waist.

Urahara glanced around for a moment. "I had hoped that my homecoming would have been under less chaotic circumstances..." He mused out loud. "When I first departed to discover the truth about what I had become, I left behind a _young_ civilization..." The blond paused. "But now I see just how much it has grown since then... Remember Ulquiorra, the genesis of a nation is rarely peaceful."

Ulquiorra nodded quietly. "Urahara-sensei, You yourself have often said as much... Men and Nations are destined to move forward, often regardless of consequence." He reasoned as he looked around at the vast green landscape around them. "In many ways, there is much here that reminds me of the great nations of the West... And yet, there is much that is alien to me."

The blond swordsman nodded understandingly. "Yes, I think I understand your dilemma: the function is clear to you, but not the form." Urahara replied calmly. "The lands are ruled, in principle at least, by the Emperor, though his 'regent'- the _Shogun_- controls the military, and therefor, could be viewed as the true power behind the Throne and Court."

"I would have preferred to stay and learn..." Ulquiorra began. "Unfortunately, my status as an outsider would make me unpopular with your people."

Urahara shook his head at the remark. "It's not a matter of you being a foreigner..." He began, looking him in the eyes. "Outsiders have often been tolerated in the past... No, at the moment, I'm afraid that the conflict is a matter of faith. Christianity is not very popular right now- and nobility views the proselytizing of the missionaries as a threat to it's power."

With that done, Urahara then gestured for Ulquiorra to follow him, and the two of them set out moving once again- towards the low hills in the distance. "While I'm more than happy to go on enlightening you about my people's history, there's another reason for coming here."

"...And that is?" Ulquiorra asked.

"Rumors," he replied as they rode. "I've heard tales of an unstoppable swordsman, wreaking havoc across the Mainland Kingdoms." The blond man continued. "And based upon the discriptions of his actions and his strange appearance, I believe that he may be the same Sword Bearer that _killed_ you on the battlefield sixty-seven years ago."

At this new revelation, Ulquiorra whirled around to face him.

**. . . ...o.o.o... . . .**

_Las Angeles, 1986..._

Grimmjaw pulled up behind the back lot of a towering office building, then made his way around to the front of the building. He punched his hand through the glass front door and unlocked it, quietly letting himself into the first floor lobby.

He stepped inside and paused, looking upwards, then made his way towards the central elevator and pressed the bottom to bring it down. After a moment, the doors slid open and he stepped inside and began pressing buttons for the upper floors. Bland music played from the little round speaker in the roof as he ascended the heights of the office building.

The doors finally opened and he stepped out into a large darkened area, filled with vast clusters of evenly and closely nestled cubicles. He tensed his grip on his word, his eyes flitting off to either sides, before he turned around to block the blade of another sword with his.

The attacker had leapt over one of the office cubicles to his right, trying to bring his sword down against Grimmjaw as he came down. The leather-clad warrior stepped back, holding up his sword defensively in front of him, watching as the stranger touched down before him. He shifted into an offensive posture as the man rose to his feet.

"Saíd..." Grimmjaw remarked with a smile.

"...Jaegerjecht?" The newcomer replied icily. "Somehow, I knew I knew it was just a matter of time until some jackal like you came looking for me." The man remarked, his narrow-eyed gaze never leaving Grimmjaw as he spoke. "So, you're finally making your move?"

Grimmjaw smirked. "You could say that." He replied, readying his sword.

Saíd (pronounced "Sah-eed") was a slender man of average height, with dark eyes and hair- which was pulled into a ponytail. His youthful appearance was downplayed by a thick but well trimmed beard covering the lower half of his face. He wore a dark blue and black jacket, with "SECURITY" on the back, with various badges and patches. The jacket helped conceal the special sword harness that was strapped to his back. He wore a white shirt, with dark navy blue slacks and black work boots.

He raised his gloved hands, brandishing his twinned Soul _Swords_. The design of the identical weapons were based on Japanese-style Wakizashi short swords. Both was the reflection of the other, featuring straight 18 inch blades, with 10 inch wooden handles. He shifted his posture slightly, before launching himself at Grimmjaw. Saíd went on the attack, swinging his swords, the smaller blades lashing out against the hard metal of the other man's weapon.

But Grimmjaw just smiled dangerously and retaliated in kin. He reacted the other man's new posture by bringing his own (much larger) Soul Sword to bare. Saíd formed an "X" with the blades of his swords to block Grimmjaw's strike. Sparks flew as the heavy blade crashed against the two lesser ones, followed by the racket of metal grinding against metal.

The battle raged on as the two warriors fought. Saíd relied on his superior speed and agility to cope with Grimmjaw's greater strength and more heavy-handed strikes. Entire cubicles were cleaved apart and laid waist to as the 'eye' of their battle shifted through the office block. Saíd deflected a wild swing from his foe, then jumped to the side. Safe for the moment, he jumped backwards to put some distance between himself and his aggressor. Saíd let out a long sigh, finding the battle wearisome, and leapt back in an effort to put some distance between the two of them.

"Grimmjaw, enough of this!" He exclaimed, causing the other man to halt his advance.

"Huh, what now?" Grimmjaw asked dubiously. "Hah! Don't tell me... that this is some pitiful attempt of yours to stall for time?" He asked the other man.

"No... You couldn't be further from the truth." Saíd replied, shaking his head. "In fact, that's the last thing on my mind at the moment..." He paused. "It will never end, not like this... Nothing to look forward to but another battle to mark the unending flow of time. And I can't bare the thought of going on any more, not like this... A life without beauty or aesthetic is no way to live."

Grimmjaw was taken back as Saíd knelt down before him. "Before you end this, for both of us, know that there is one power that you will never be able to over come..." He continued.

"Really?" Grimmjaw asked, grinning. "Well, before I oblige you, old friend... Perhaps you'd do me the favor of telling me what this _power_ is that you speak of?"

He fell silent for a moment, then nodded. "It's... time." Saíd replied, lowering his head.

A split secant later, the blue-haired warrior let out a deep ominous chuckle. _"Time?_ How interesting..." He replied, quietly approaching him. "We'll have to see about that..." Grimmjaw finished, looming over the prostrate fighter as he raised his sword up.

**. . . ...o.o.o... . . .**

_Northern Japan, 1625..._

Urahara regarded Ulquiorra's look of surprise. "You see, Ulquiorra, my true reason for why we are here is to investigate certain rumors." He began to explain. "I've heard some troubling stories of a fearsome and powerful warrior... In each instance, the stories described a tall man, with blue hair, clad in strange skeletal armor, and wielding a giant sword."

Ulquiorra remained silent as he spoke. "His name is Grimmjaw Jaegerjechtd... And I'm certain that he must be the same person who killed you in battle..." Urahara began calmly. "No one knows for certain how long he's been alive, but it's clear that he is one of the oldest living Sword Bearers in the world." The blond swordsman explained to him. "He's ancient and powerful, possibly over twenty-five hundred years old... A Pre-Roman age savage from the dark wildernesses of Germania."

"I see..." Ulquiorra began. "But tell me, Urahara, how could such a powerful man ever be defeated?" He asked with a measure of unease in his voice.

"The answer to that question is simple." Urahara replied with a rye smile. "The same way any obstacle is overcome- with hope, heart, and steel."

"I would hope that you have a bit more insight than that?" Ulquiorra asked.

Urahara chuckled to himself. "He's taken a lot of lives, gaining experience and power along the way, but the true threat is yet to be realized." He explained to him. "If he isn't stopped, he could threaten the stability of the entire world." The swordsman revealed. "Such a development must never happen, if Grimmjaw prevails, humanity would be thrown into chaos."

Ulquiorra exhaled. "Then... What could we, or anyone, do against someone so strong?"

"I don't believe that your encounter with Grimmjaw that day was a mere coincidence... No, he went out of his way to seek out and kill you." Urahara replied. "I believe that he may have sensed something within you, something that could potentially become a threat to him."

**. . . ...o.o.o... . . .**

_Las Angeles, 1986..._

Ulquiorra walked cross the main bridge of the Las Noches Central Park. He stopped near the middle of the stonework structure to rest his hands on the large "rails". Not long after this, Shunsui arrived and joined him on the bridge, the two men looking out across the river.

"The situation in the city is accelerating..." Shunsui remarked. "They're out there, somewhere within this city, I can sense their presence much more keenly now." The scruffy swordsman remarked in a subdued tone, looking at the river as he spoke.

Ulquiorra nodded. "I know, I can feel it too. Tension in the city is growing by the day." The dark-haired man remarked in a hushed voice. "I'm sure now that this _is_ a Gathering. It has to be, it's the only way to explain this overwhelming feeling that 'war' is coming..."

Shunsui looked at him. "Listening to your tone right now, I get the feeling that you have something on your mind at the moment, is something troubling you?"

"It's not one thing," he began wearily. "But at the moment, I just can't shrug of the realization that _he's_ coming for me after all these years... Grimmjaw, of all people, is stalking once again."

Shunsui reached into his coat and pulled out a large silvery flask. He removed the cap and quietly took a drink from the contain, before handing it to Ulquiorra. The raven-haired swordsman looked at the shiny metal flask for a moment, smiling to himself, before bringing it up to his pale lips and tipping it back to take a swig from it. He let out a muffled cough, then returned it to the other man.

Ulquiorra returned his gaze to the river. "For now, I'm not sure if there's anything that I can do to shake this feeling. I guess..." He concluded. "I'll just have to see how things play out."

Shunsui tucked his flask back into his long coat. "Yes, I know the feeling... We should meet up again, later to day, to discuss thing." He finished with a sigh.

**. . . ...o.o.o... . . .**

_Northern Japan, 1625..._

It was evening when Ulquiorra and Urahara finally arrived at the meeting place. The darkening skyline was turning a burning shade of red as they moved, the clip-clop sound of horses' hooves against the grassy path filling the air around them.

The two swordsman spotted another man in the distance and reined in the horses, then Urahara called out the man in his native dialect. The stranger promptly turned to face them, revealing his angular features and facial hair as he smiled, and rode over to them. He waved as he came to a stop before the two men, then tilted his head forward and introduced himself. He had long dark brown hair that was pulled into a ponytail in the back, and thick eyebrows the same color.

He introduced himself to them as "Shunsui Kyoraku". The man was dressed in a set of full-length black robes, with white socks and straw sandals on his feet, a wide-brimmed straw hat and an incongruous pink and red floral patterned shawl-like garment draped over his shoulders. A matched Katana and Wakizashi set were tucked into the obi tied around his waist.

Later that night, the three men were gathered around a campfire, the shifting flames casting an eerie glow on their face as they conversed. "You were right to be concerned, my old friend... Those rumors you spoke of were true." Shunsui began. "I've heard tales of a mysterious warrior wreaking havoc through through the local lands- Nanchuko, Chosen, and now here."

Shunsui exhaled, before continuing. "Accounts of the strange describe him as _'a tall man with blue hair, clad in strange armor, and wielding a large sword'."_ The dark-haired swordsman paused for a moment, then continued. "Tell me, does this sound like the person you're after?"

Urahara looked to Ulquiorra, then turned back Shunsui and nodded. "His true name is not known, but he presently goes by the name 'Grimmjaw Jaegerjechtd'... He is extremely dangerous." The scruffy blond explained to the other man. "We're after him because I believe that, if left unchecked, he could one day become strong enough to endanger the entire world."

Shunsui looked at the other two for a moment. "Yes, and we'll have to be on the lookout as well." The swordsman remarked in a solemn tone. "Because, if the two of you are looking for him, it's very likely that he'll be looking for the two of you... perhaps all three of us."

Urahara, who had been in thought, looked up at the two men. "Actually, Shunsui my friend, I was hoping that you might help further my pupil's training?"

**. . . ...o.o.o... . . .**

Kisuke Urahara felt restless that night...

He sat up and looked to the other two men, observing that they were sound asleep. At the moment, he just couldn't shake this strange feeling. Trying to be as quiet as possible, he rose to his feet and gathered up his things, then took his horse to go out and explore the area- not even sure what it was that he was looking for even as set out to find it...

As Urahara rode, the remains of a derelict Edo-period fortress soon became visible to him not too far in the distance. He wordlessly urged the horse on to move faster, the rundown outer battlements quickly coming into view as he neared the old fortress. He brought the horse to a stop, in front of the broken down front gates, and dismounted from his steed. He was starting to feel on edge, and reached up to undo the cloak wrapped around his shoulders, tossing it onto the back of his horse, then slowly made his way inside, his hand barely an inch from the handle of his sword.

He turned to look to his side, spotting nearby steps that lead up the old fortresses' battles. Still gripping the handle of his sword, Urahara made his way towards the steps, only to hear something and turn around to see another man standing before him. Urahara paused for a moment, then drew his katana from his sheath as the shadowy figure stepped forward.

The stranger looked at Urahara with piercing blue eyes. He had sharp cheekbones and brows, with a pronounced jawline, and a wide grinning mouth. His unkempt cyan hair hung in waves around his face and came down his back, disappearing into the heavy dark blue cape wrapped around his upper body (with a collar of black feathers). He cast it back to reveal a skeletal breastplate, complete with a skull pauldron covering his left shoulder. A chain-mail sleeve covered his left arm, along with a leather glove on the left hand and chain and plate glove over his right. A pair of dark leather greeves covered his lower body, along with dark knee-high riding roots.

He reached up to grip the handle of his sword- strapped across his back, beneath his cloak- and drew it to brandish it at the other man. "Urahara...!" He began with a smile. "I knew that I sensed another powerful Immortal nearby... But to think it would be you?" He continued, brandishing his massive sword as him as he spoke. "We have business, but I'm willing to put that aside for now, so just tell me where Cifer is and I'll let you walk away..."

But Urahara just returned the smile. "Sorry Grimmjaw, but I'm not some wet-behind-ears rookie." The blond explained. "I've picked up a few tricks of my own, so you'll have to do better than that if you want to spook me!" He exclaimed in a defiant tone. "As for 'Cifer'? Well I'm glad to say that you're too late, I've prepared him for you!" assuming a fighting posture of his own.

"Ha! We'll just see about that!" Grimmjaw exclaimed cockily, leaping at him and bringing his sword down and sending up a plume of dust and debris. He looked up at Urahara as the blond resumed his offensive posture. "If I can't have Cifer, than I'm more than happy to settle with you... After all, we also have some unfinished business of our own!" The larger warrior advanced and the two fighters began trading blows with each other, energy literally starting to crackle from their swords. Their power bursting free as heir waged on through the rundown fortress.

Urahara did a side-step and slashed the other man- leaving a gash in his breastplate- and made his way to the nearby foot of the steps to the ramparts. He turned around to meet Grimmjaw's gaze once again and smiled deviously at him. Grimmjaw rushed him again, but Urahara was quick to block him with the curved blade of his own sword. He leaned in close, still grinning. "So... Does it hurt, old friend?" He asked mockingly, before kicking him back.

With his face still to his opponent, Urahara began back-stepping and ascending the stairs, sword still held defensively and watching intently as Grimmjaw reached the foot and started to make his way up the steps towards him, cackling insanely as he looked up at him. Urahara stopped midway and the two men began fighting once more (slowly ascending the stairs), raw energy crackling from their swords like lightning bolts each time their blades met with a clang of metal-against-metal. Stone and mortar began to break off and crumble away as they fought on the staircase.

As the rubble began to fall down against Grimmjaw, Urahara seized his chance and managed to knock the other man off his footing and send him falling to the ground below. Urahara looked down at the pile of rubble for a moment, then jumped to a nearby roof and made his way to the roof of the central interior structure inside the walls of the fortress. As he made his way up the arch of the roof, he stopped and turned to watch as Grimmjaw climbed up the wall, like some crazed animal, till he reached the large roof and then hopped up onto it.

Urahara reached the peak of the massive arched roof, planning to hold his ground- here with the advantage of having the high ground- and fight the crazed warrior. The blond focused himself and swung down at Grimmjaw, exchanging blows with him for several secants, deflecting the blue-haired fighter's blows, then thrust the blade of his sword through him.

The blade of his sword pierced both the breastplate and his upper body (all the way to the hilt), till it was peaking out through his back, and embedded in the tall warrior. Grimmjaw's eyes went wide and he fell silent for a moment, as if he were in shock. Just as Urahara started to withdraw his sword, a large hand grabbed onto his wrist and Grimmjaw leered at him. Effectively trapped, Grimmjaw held him in place as he brought up his sword.

Still holding Urahara by the wrist in a deathgrip, Grimmjaw pulled back and thrust his massive broad sword through the body of the other man in a swift devastating blow. Trapped in place by the blade of his sword, the blond swordsman gasped in pane as Grimmjaw twisted it for effect. He gripped hold of his neck and withdrew his sword in a splatter of blood. He smiled at the swordsman, then slammed him into the decaying roof- rotten thatch tiles flying in the impact.

Urahara crashed through well-rotted roof, only to end up plumeting into the darkness of the inner depths of the old building. Grimmjaw paused to look into the black pit for a moment, then rose to his feet and gripped the handle of the sword. He grit his teeth as he pulled the blood-stained blade of the weapon out of his chest and tossed it away- down onto the dirt ground below- before jumping into the darkness, into the dank innards of the fortress.

Urahara lifted himself up just to look around the dark room he'd fallen into. He could taste blood in his mouth, a lot of blood, and his clothes were battered and stained, damp, and bloody. He'd been separated from his Soul Sword and badly wounded. Just then, he heard the sound of something heavy coming down behind him. He felt a large hand on his shoulder, then was yanked up into a kneeling position with Grimmjaw hunkered down behind him.

Grimmjaw leaned in, his head next to Urahara's. "Any last words, before you die?"

He grimaced, then looked to the side to spit in his face. "Only this..." He began. "After Ulquiorra ends your life... I'll be waiting to settle the score with you... _in hell!"_

Grimmjaw just wiped his face off and smiled, then released let go of him and rose to his feet, bringing his sword up to eye lever as he looked down at the kneeling man. "Sorry 'old man', but I have no intention of dieing!" He declared as he swung in a downward arc- taking Urahara's head!

**(- End of Part 3 -)**

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><p>This chapter took longer to get out for a number of reasons, including that it ended up being too long to including everything that I originally planned to include in it. As a result of this, some of the material towards the end wound up having to be moved to the next chapter.<p>

One result of this meant changing how this one ended. Unlike how the last two chapters ended, in the Las Angeles setting, this one ended in the past. This story is no where near over, there's still a whole lot more to cover before it's all done, so please stick around to see how things play out. I had a lot of fun writing this chapter and I hope it aswered some of your question about the storyline and the characters.

I'm hoping to have the next chapter out sooner. I hope you all are enjoying this and will stick around to see how things play out. And as always, your reviews and feedback are welcome.

_-Bojack727_


	4. Chapter 4

The primary reason that this chapter took so damn long is because some bastard robbed my house and took several hundred dollars worth of my possessions, including a old backup laptop I was using at the moment and the flashdrives that were plugged into it at the time.

The theft set me back about five to six years, as those drives contained the most up-to-date versions of virtually _EVERYTHING_ I've written and drawn since about 2006. Aside from the novel I was working on and all the art that I _had_ planned to sell, I lost the outline for this story (along with all the recent fanfiction I had planned). So this series was put on the back-burner while I started working on new materials while trying to salvage the long-term projects.

* * *

><p><strong>"THE IMMORTALS"<strong>

**Written by Bojack727  
>Based on a story by Gregory Widen<br>With Characters by Tité Kubo**

**Part IV**

_Northern Japan, 1625..._

Ulquiorra Schiffer and Shunsui Kyoraku stood alone the secluded fortress, before the corpse of their fallen friend, amidst the rubble of the derelict building. The long night was finally over and the twilight long since receded. But while it normally would have been a sunny morning, the sky was instead sullen and overcast, with the darkening threat of a storm looming in the distance.

Ulquiorra gave a muted frown and wordlessly removed his cloak, kneeling down to drape the garment over the decapitated swordsman in the fashion of a shroud. And there, he lingered for a moment, on his knees in the dusty ground of the abandoned fortress. Mechanically, his thoughts shifted to the notion that Urahara's sword was lying nearby, discarded in the debris. At the moment, part of him would have been content to allow his psychical self to autonomously go through the motions, while his true self retreated inward, into the deepest depths of his unconscious mind...

Following the urge to retreat into himself, he rose to his feat and scanned the area, until he eventually spotted a katana less than a dozen meters from their present location. The sword was embedded firmly in the ground, the gently curving blade encrusted with the recently-dried blood of the very man who had killed him only a matter of hours ago.

Shunsui watched as the dark-haired man as he retrieved the weapon. With the sword in hand, he turned back around, only for the swordsman to rush to his side. "D-dammit man!" He exclaimed, gripping the other man by the shoulders. "What are you playing at?"

Ulquiorra gave him an unreadable look as he spoke. "Urahara's sword... he should be buried with it." He explained to him in a eerily detached voice, looking down at the blood-stained weapon gripped in his hand. "Once we've taken care of that, then..." He suddenly trailed off.

The swordsman shook him. "And then what?! Just what do you think you'll do- you'll go after that man and try to kill him?!" Shunsui asked. "You go after him, as you now, and you'll die- that man is a monster, he'll kill you like he killed Kisuke-san!"

Ulquiorra regarded him for a moment. "Then... What would have me do?"

Shunsui calmed down slightly. "For now, I'm afraid, you wait." He replied. "Urahara was my friend, I knew him for centuries, and he saw something in you- something that he believed could one day bring down Grimmjaw Jaegerjecht..." The swordsman explained. "But right now, you're inexperienced and still learning, but I'm ready to believe in you, because my friend believed in you."

The dark-haired man became silent, then nodded after a moment. _"Believe..."_ He repeated softly, looking the other man in the eyes. "Yes, I... want to believe."

**. . . ...o.o.o... . . .**

_Las Angeles, 1986..._

Ulquiorra arrived at the flower shop where Orihime worked. It was a modest single-story business, set amidst a bustling street in a trendy little expanse of the West Coast city. He quietly ventured inside, the jingling of a small bell, mounted over the door, sounding his arrival.

He removed his dark leather driving gloves, slipping them into a pocket of his tan trench-coat, as he looked around the interior. Ulquiorra was dressed in a matching dark blazer and slacks, with a white dress-shirt (with the collar loosened) and a pair of dark loafer. Numerous bouquets of freshly-cut flowers filled the racks on the counters and display units.

He quickly spotted a woman with medium dark brown hair- standing behind the front counter, next to the cash register. She looked up and smiled at him. "Hello sir, welcome to the shop." The brunet began in a welcoming tone. "How can I help you?" she continued with a smile.

Ulquiorra nodded. "Actually... I'm here to pick up Orihime."

The woman's smile widened at this bit of information. "Well, I should have guessed as much." She remarked in an almost dreamy tone. "Wouldn't be right for a pretty young thing like her _not_ to have such a good-looking man paying her a visit, eh?"

With that, she turned around- to a door leading into the back. "Oh Orihime-dear, you have a visitor." She announced with a grin. "A dark, mysterious gentleman, here to see you." The woman continued with a grin, before she turned back around and smiled at him. "She'll be right with you."

Ulquiorra watched as Orihime emerged from the back of the shop, only to realize that she was still wearing her green shop apron, and rush back to hang it up. The redhead promptly returned to the front of the shop, blushing faintly as she turned to Ulquiorra.

Her long mane of bright reddish-brown hair was pulled into a ponytail, held up in the back with a fluorescent scrunchy. Orihime was dressed in a white, ruffled long-sleeved blouse and a pair of sleek back pants, and a pair of pink Keds sneekers (and striped socks). He noted that the lacy front of the top hugged her figure just enough to hint at her ample chest.

"Ulquiorra, you came!" The young woman remarked, smiling vibrantly at him as she made her way around the front counter to greet him.

Ulquiorra nodded. "It may be rather sudden, but I was hoping that you'd join me for lunch." He replied with a small smile, offering her his arm.

An instant passed and she blushed faintly, before nodding. "Yes, of course," She replied, shouldering the strap of her purse, as she snaked her arm around his. "I'd be happy to."

The two left the shop and started heading down the street. "I'm meeting with an old friend of mine, but I don't think he'll mind the extra company..." Ulquiorra casually explained to her.

**. . . ...o.o.o... . . .**

Shunsui Kyoraku entered the upscale apartment building where he was staying, and made his way to the wall of post-boxes. He reached down and retrieved his keys from his trouser pocket, then unlocked and opened the brass 5"x5" square door of the post box.

He retrieved the small stack of parcels, then stepped into the classic 1950s elevator, the sleek metal doors sliding shut behind him as he pressed the button for the tenth floor. Shunsui was dressed in a dark gray three-piece suit, over a white shirt and a dark purple tie. His long dark overcoat concealed the twin swords that he carried with him at all time.

He arrived at his floor and stepped into the carpeted hall, taking his keys from his coat pocket to open the door, before venturing into his apartment. He walked inside, pausing to hang his long coat on a nearby stand, then set his swords down on a nearby counter. Shunsui walked over to the couch in the den and sat down to look at his mail. Amongst the small stack of mainly junk mail, was a single envelope that caught his eye- it was sealed with a wax signet.

After a moment, he picked up a letter opener and sliced it open. The swordsman then fished out the folded page inside and opened it up to examine it. His eyes quickly narrowed as he read the contents of the letter in silence, then slammed it down onto the coffee table. Shunsui frowned and looked away in frustration, before turning back to the letter, noting the signature near the bottom...

_Dr. Szayle Alporro Grantz, MD._

**. . . ...o.o.o... . . .**

_London, 1889..._

Ulquiorra was seated in a cushioned arm chair in the downstairs parlor of his home, frowning at the headline on the newspaper in his hands. With a sigh, he set the folded news print on the rounded table beside his high-backed chair. Just over two years ago, he'd moved into the two-story house in one of the trendy districts of London, living under the alias _"Anton De Murcel"_.

His unique situation allowed him to set up himself up financially, and so he was able to live easily, as a monied gentleman in Victorian society. Ulquiorra was dressed in a pair of sleek black trousers and and well-shined boots, with a matching black waist coat- over a ruffled white shirt, along with a dark green velvet necktie around his high starched collar. A sharp, sudden ringing drew his attention towards the closed double closed double-doors, alerting him the arrival of a visitor.

The doors quickly parted to reveal a tall man, flanked by the housekeeper. "Master de Murcel," The young woman began formally. "Mr. Shunsui Kyoraku, is here to see you, sir."

The girl lingered uncertainly, till Ulquiorra smirked at Shunsui. "Ah, thank you, my dear, but I would prefer to keep my coat with me." The swordsman explained with a smile.

"Thank you, Emma," Ulquiorra began. "You may return to your duties... I believe that Mr. Kyoraku is eager to speak with me about some pressing matter." He finished, coolly.

Emma was only 18, with a youthful appearance, with long brown hair- pulled up into a bun and hidden under her white maid's bonnet. "As you wish, sir." She replied with a nod. "I'll be in the kitchen, seeing to tonight's dinner, if you have need of me." The girl finished, then excused herself.

The two men waited until the doors to the parlor were drawn shut. Ulquiorra quickly rose to his feet to greet the other man, stepping forward to shake his hand. Shunsui undid the front of his long overcoat and hung it on the nearby wooden hat-and-coat stand. The swordsman wore a black waistcoat, over a white dress-shirt (with a dark blue necktie), black trousers and worn boots.

Ulquiorra ventured back into the parlor, retrieving a bottle of brandy and two glasses, while Shunsui removed the _western_ sword-belt that held his paired katana and wakizashi. He sat down in a cushioned chair (hanging his swords from the back), near the one Ulquiorra had occupied. He noted that it was angled so that it partially faded the other chair... as if his friend had been expecting company.

The raven-haired man handed Shunsui a smooth crystal-cut glass of aged brandy, retaking his seat in the other chair. "I received your letter some two months ago," Ulquiorra began, swirling his own glass of brandy and sipping from it. "I must say, I found your correspondence... _interesting_. Were there a return address, I would have written you, seeking further details."

He nodded, taking a sip from his glass. "Yes, I must apologize on that count... However, I spent the last year exploring the French's Indo-Chin colonies." He continued. "It wasn't until I arrived in the lands of _your_ empire's... 'Raj', as I believe you call it, that I secured the services of a Currier in Bangladesh." He explained with a smile. "That was some six months ago, though."

Ulquiorra chuckled, taking a longer sip. "Her Majesty, Queen Victoria of Saxe-Couburg, has presided over the _our empire_ since 1838." He retorted coolly. "As long now as the esteemed Emperor Augustus ruled the Roman Empire. And her constitution is such that she's likely to remain on the throne for a good many years to come... much to the annoyance of her eldest son, I imagine." He explained to Shunsui with a chuckle as he finished off his brandy.

"I'm afraid my people's empire is a far cry from the one I once served..." Shunsui remarked, taking a moment to finish what remained in his glass. "Japan is becoming a 'modern' society, and there's no longer a place for the _warrior-caste..."_ He explained. "Since the abdication of the Shogunate, the samurai have publicly ostracized, in favor of... untrained conscripts- _the Army of Modern Japan."_

"It's no paradise here either," Ulquiorra replied. "Lodon's in an uproar over all the murders happening in Whitechapel." He handed Shunsui the newspaper. "The victims starting appearing last year- most of them prostitutes- carved up and mutilated." He explained. "The local constabulary and Scotland Yard are no closer to catching a culprit- _any_ of them."

"_...the most notorious criminal rookery in London."_ Shunsui read. _"...characterized by extreme poverty, poor housing, vagrancy, drunkenness and endemic prostitution."_ Her continued, skimming through the lengthy article. "Ulquiorra... why are you showing me this?"

"The _modes-opporendi..."_ Ulquiorra replied. "Someone's using the 'Ripper' murders as a smokescreen for something else." He explained. "I believe someone, with even more sinister motives, is using the chaos of the murders to cover his tracks... and that he's one of _us."_

Shunsui set the paper down. "Grantz..." He mused. "So that butcher is active again..."

**. . . ...o.o.o... . . .**

_Las Angeles, 1986..._

The gym was bustling with activity. Everywhere, people were busy- lifting free weights, working out on the machines, running on treadmills. A number of areas had experienced a physical fitness boom during the 1980s, and LA's Muscle Beach was among the top.

Under the low roof and florescent lighting, a woman was busy working out on one of the massive weight-lifting machines. Her name was Francesca Emilia De La Rosas, though she was also known simply as "Mila Rose" to some. She had a well-muscled build, with a dark, bronzed complexion, and deep brown hair (kept in a ponytail in the back) and eyes. She was clad in tight black tank-top and matching spandex work-out shorts, a pair of training shoes and workout gloves.

She sat, her thighs flanking the divider and her feet tucked neatly in place, gripping the hands-holds of the the push-bars. Mila took a deep breath, then pushed the weighted bars outward- balanced cables moving a stack of fixed weights behind her. Every muscle in her body tense for an instant as she held the weights aloft- her calves tensed for an instant, her firm inner thighs clamping snugly around the cushioned divider, the hard muscles of her flat stomach tightening... And then she exhaled through pursed lips, calmly drawing the push-bars back into position.

The process continued in repetition. Her taught muscles flexed _vividly_ with every outward motion of her arms, till her dusky figure glistened tantalizingly with perspiration. Again and again, the combined load of the black slabs- four weights, totaling 80 lbs- rose up and down. This _paltry_ sum was only a fraction of what she was capable of. She could could lift 160 lbs over a sustained period, 200 lbs if she pushed herself. And yet, she didn't come to these gyms to show off...

For Mila, this was more than just working out. She built up and conditioned her body so that her strength rivaled that of the strongest tempered steel of the finest blades ever forged. For the exotic woman, her weapon- her _Soul Sword_- was an extension of herself, and it was only as strong as the warrior who wielded it- _and she was unbreakable! _

After several minutes, Milia Rose finished her last series of reps, drawing her arms back with a slow deep breath, the secured weights coming down to rest. She slowly rose to her feet, pausing to drink from her water bottle and to wipe sweat from both herself and the machine. She made her way to the women's locker rooms/showers, and retrieved her duffel bag. She didn't bother with the showers, being eager to head home- where she could wash up in the privacy of her own home. The young woman behind the front counter waved to her as she left the gym.

Mila stepped outside, into the parking lot. It was a warm day, the sun was out and she had to squint her eyes as she made her way over to her car- a dark blue _1973 Datsun 240K_ Sports Car. She opened the driver door and tossed her duffel into the back, then sat down. The bronzed woman fired up the engine and shifted into the reverse as the radio came to life, pulling out of the parking spot, before shifting gears once more and leaving the parking lot.

**. . . ...o.o.o... . . .**

Ulquiorra had walked Orihime to a bar the woman wasn't familiar with. He'd sworn to the quality of the establishment, and she was prepared to take him at his word. It was fairly large, but surprising low key and uncluttered by the usual raucous patrons she would have expected.

Ulquiorra reached up to remove his sunglasses, seemingly looking for someone. The entire place was done up in a rather nice stained-wood and polished brass motif. The entire bar and the area around it was done entirely in this style. A trio of large wooden arches stood over the racks of liquor, with pains of mirrored glass set in place behind them. The lighting was low enough for a relaxed atmosphere, without making the finer details of the place impossible to discern.

They spotted a man, seated at a circular table, wave them over. He had a thin layer of scruffy facial hair and long wavy brown hair pulled into a ponytail. He was dressed in a dark overcoat- over a white shirt- with a black sports-coat and slacks, and black half-boots (which zipped up the side). The two of them moved to join him at the wooden table.

Shunsui stood up and smiled. "Ulquiorra, I see you've brought company," He began as he then turned to greet Orihime. "And, might I add, what lovely company it is."

Orihime blushed, though Ulquiorra rolled his eyes. "This old rogue is Shunsui Kyoraku," He began, gesturing to the other man. "And this is Orihime Inoue," He added, only for the swordsman to step forward and take the redhead's hand, kissing it- making the woman's blush darken.

The three of them swiftly sat down, ordered their drinks, and settled in. Orihime listened intently as the two men reminisced about some of their past escapades...

Unaware that outside, amidst the bystanders and parked cars, someone was watching the bar...

**(- End of Part IV -)**

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><p>I just want to briefly thank you guys for sticking with me for all this time. I'm sorry that this chapter took so long to get out, but the theft of my computer and my hectic work schedule has made it hard for me to find a lot of time for working on my stories. Again, thank you.<p>

_-Bojack727_


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